


Sing While the City Decays

by ambitiousbutrubbish



Series: Sing While We Go Up in Flames [3]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Asexual Character, Asexual Enjolras, F/M, First Meetings, Gen, M/M, Multi, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-20 10:26:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3646866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambitiousbutrubbish/pseuds/ambitiousbutrubbish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just because a group does not become historic, it doesn’t mean that, to each other, they are anything less than defining.</p><p>(Les Amis become Les Amis. Enjolras grows up.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Combeferre

**Author's Note:**

> **Summary: Enjolras is inordinately attached to his phone wallpaper and the political theories of Jean Jacques Rousseau. Combeferre tends to pay the price for these things alongside him.**  
>   
> 
> Originally this was all going to be one big one-shot but, I don’t know, the format didn’t work for me or something? Anyway, it all felt disconnected, so instead everyone gets their own little chapter.

Enjolras has had the same phone wallpaper since he was 17: a grainy snapshot of a photograph he found going through some albums of his early years that, despite its poor quality, he has transferred onto every new phone he has gotten over the years and is the first personal setting applied to each; before he even adds his contacts or changes the ring tone. His walllpaper is Combeferre at about 6 or 7, his eyes crossed and two front teeth missing from his delighted grin, a butterfly settled daintily on the end of his nose. The print photo had been shoved hastily into the album at some point and the corner had folded over so that there is a crease in Combeferre’s head. The original snapshot had been taken hastily on a bad camera phone. But there is no photo that Enjolras likes better, and no picture that makes Combeferre blush harder than when he picks up Enjolras’ phone to send a message or set a reminder.

Enjolras doesn’t recall meeting Combeferre. Nor does he recall a time when Combeferre wasn’t a part of his life. Combeferre’s parent’s have albums stuffed full of photos of the two of them growing up; their first day of Primary School grinning identical smiles, as pudgy toddlers pulling each other around by the hand, all the way back to a time before either could walk or talk, but still sleeping curled against each other on Combeferre’s parent’s couch, like ying and yang. Enjolras’ parents do not have a similar photo collection. They do not even appear to have any photos of just Enjolras alone, or at least none that they liked enough to display. The walls in Combeferre’s house are covered with the photos and achievements of him and his sisters. There’s a family picture sitting on the table opposite the front entrance, Combeferre front-and-centre, with his arm slung around Enjolras’ shoulders. Enjolras is not overly bothered by the lack of acknowledgement in the house his parents live in. 

\--------------------

When they had been children, Enjolras’ teachers had pushed him towards team sports as a way of expending his seemingly boundless energy. He had liked the idea of playing on a team in theory. But in practice, the other kids had been unable to hold any conversation with him, seemingly losing their words when he tried to speak to them, or ignoring him when he tried to give them advice. Enjolras soon grew tired of it, and went back to spending all his time fidgeting in the library, with Combeferre.

Combeferre has always been a voracious reader, and their early school days were the worst for it, offering nothing else to distract him from every book he could get his hands on. He didn’t have any particular preference. He was as interested in fantasy as much as mathematics and history, believed in ghosts and the supernatural as much as he did in science. And he shared everything he read with Enjolras. Enjolras appreciated his friend’s knowledge, of course, but at times he would have preferred being out doing something.

However, it was that insatiable appetite for learning that led Combeferre to make the discovery that changed their lives forever.

He is 14 the first time he stumbles upon the term “social contract” in one of his sister’s politics books. The two of them are locked behind the door in Combeferre’s room. Technically speaking, Combeferre isn’t allowed to read any of his sister’s school books, but they waited until the rest of his family were sleeping to take the book and read it by torchlight. Enjolras is reading something about history or science, he won’t remember when he thinks of this later, but he will always remember the quiet little hum of agreement Combeferre makes when he reads about Rousseau for the first time. 

After that, the two of them devour any book on the ideology that they can find. Often, Combeferre reads aloud to him from library books that they can only find one copy of; holed up in corner with their heads bowed together. Combeferre’s voice still cracks on occasion, when he reads something he finds particularly exciting. Enjolras lies awake at night, thinking of all the ways the world could be better, all the ways that people can be more equal and free. He feels as if he has found his life’s purpose.

\--------------------

Combeferre may have been the first to read the term, but it’s Enjolras - still a few months short of his 14th birthday himself - who first gets the two of them in trouble in the name of it. Their school is conservative, to say the least. It had not been Combeferre’s parent’s first choice, but it had been Enjolras’, and Combeferre had followed him there as he follows him in everything.

When the topic of the social contract is raised, their history teacher calls it an idealistic and immature theory - created by a hypocritical and unfaithful man - that caused greater bloodshed than was necessary. One that is unrealistic in the current political climate.

Emboldened by his new knowledge of an idea different than the norm, Enjolras leaps to his feet to argue for the virtue of Rousseau and his theory. He gets himself and Combeferre their first school suspension when he calls their teacher a “close-minded bourgeois apologist” at the top of his voice and Combeferre steps in to back him up.

As they’re marched to the principle’s office, Enjolras can see other students in their classrooms turn their head to watch them walk passed through the small windows on the door. Near the end of the hallway, one girl actually cracks the door to poke her head out and get a proper look at the person she had heard shouting about political change.

Enjolras wants them all to look. He wants them to see a different way; see a change.

\--------------------

Today, Enjolras looks back on that moment strangely fondly. 

He is the first to admit that, at the time, his knowledge of the subject had been lacking; he had been a bratty little kid who didn’t like to be told that his ideas were suspect, arguing antiquated ideas he didn’t fully understand, on behalf of a man who abandoned his family. He can shake his head now, at the boy he had been. Who had read maybe four or five books on a subject positioned from one side of political leaning, and thought he knew everything about it. Over the years he has discovered that there is always new things to be learnt; he would never speak about something now without months of careful planning and research and talking to people who know more about the topic than himself. He wants to change the world through knowledge and education and he approaches every matter with a seriousness that reflects that desire.

But that first suspension - the first time he had been formally punished for speaking his mind - is what lights the flame in Enjolras’ heart, and it has burned bright and harsh ever since.


	2. Courfeyrac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Expulsion has never felt so much like victory, or, three boys of the revolution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive the random, slightly pretentious French words. I’m not 100% sure what the equivalent of _collège_ and (later) _lycée_ is, considering pre-tertiary Australian education is just Primary and High School.

Enjolras’ parents have never liked Combeferre, or his family. When they were children, they tried to keep them apart as much as possible, ultimately resorting to excuses so flimsy that there had been mutterings that Enjolras wasn’t _allowed_ to be around Combeferre because of his parent’s own prejudice, and they had to relent. Truthfully, Enjolras is not entirely convinced by the accusation. His parents are not pleasant people, but they have always been entirely open with their bigotry and condescension. If they _were_ racist, on top of being elitist and homophobic and classist, he’s sure he would have heard them say something specifically to that effect. They would not bother to imply. As it stands, Enjolras knows full well that what his parent’s don’t approve of is Combeferre and his family’s political leanings. They feared that exposing him to their liberal ideals would “contaminate” their only son.

To be fair, Enjolras supposes that, in a way, they were right about that.

They sent Enjolras to his first _collège_ on the presumption that it would be too conservative for Combeferre’s parents to stand, but when Combeferre had asked them if he could go there too, they had relented. 

When the two of them are expelled from the school, Enjolras’ parents send him to the only other private _collège_ in their town. Enjolras knows that they hope this will separate them, but Combeferre only follows him to this school, too. 

When his parents pass Enjolras’ leaving the principle’s office after enrolling him, Combeferre’s mother actually smirks at them as she enters to enrol her own son. 

\--------------------

As they sit together in the principle’s office of their second _collège_ , Enjolras is hit with a strong sense of deja vu. The same framed degrees line the wall in the same place as they had at their previous school. The desk before them is made of the same wood, and the stationary and electronics that sit atop it are arranged in a similar manner. The entire room is a hard, visual testament to the cookie-cutter style of education that the club that they had been running without permission was in defiance of. 

Combeferre even runs his hand down Enjolras’ arm the same way to get him to uncross them.

Enjolras had swept into the office ahead of the principle with his head held high, Combeferre close at his heels. Like as not he was heading for his second expulsion in a little over a year, but the status quo does not change without action, and action bought with it consequences.

The other boy bursts into the principle’s office after a good minute and a half of near silence. Enjolras is sure that there had been an attempt at intimidation there; the assumption on the principle’s behalf that if he stayed quiet enough, either Enjolras or Combeferre would feel compelled to talk to fill the silence. But he had not counted on Combeferre being completely unflappable, nor the calmness that Enjolras can draw from him when the situation calls for it, matching his breathing to Combeferre’s steady presence. If Enjolras had been here alone he does not doubt that he would have incriminated himself further trying to push his point, trying to get their principle to see the truth in his club, in their message for change. But Combeferre tempers him and reminds him that sometimes silence is as powerful as words, pushing the opponent to speak first and reveal his hand early. 

Enjolras does not recognise their intruder, but Combeferre seems to. He furrows his eyebrows, tilts his head to the side slightly and asks “Courfeyrac?”. And Enjolras does know him. He remembers the boy from their last meeting who had flared up as quickly as the syllabus he held in his hands when he took a lighter to it, his dark hair and grey eyes that had seemed to reflect the fire as if they had become the flame themselves. And like the flame, he was warm; bright and engaging. The others in the club had been drawn to him and Enjolras had seen the way he encouraged laughter from everyone around him. 

Courfeyrac doesn’t seem bothered by the way three pairs of eyes swivel to look at them. He doesn’t even really seem to notice, keeps his bright-eyed gaze fixed firmly on the principle as he strides into the room and stops abruptly in front of the desk. Enjolras takes note of the way his hand trembles, clasped so tightly around a copy of the school guidelines. Courfeyrac is the only member of their club who has come to their defence, but Enjolras thinks that right here and now, he’ll probably be enough.

In the end, Combeferre leaves the principles office with his last-warning suspension, and Courfeyrac with his first. Enjolras gets expelled. It’s not a surprise. It doesn’t even sting. From the moment Combeferre had received his punishment Enjolras knew that his wasn’t going to be the same. The principle wanted them separated, and Enjolras was the more visible of the two. He can’t help but suspecting that his parents have a hand in his expulsion. He doesn’t know why, and he doesn’t know why they would want him expelled and not Combeferre, but the obvious desire to separate the two of their reeks of their deluded idea that Enjolras will somehow be “fixed” if he’s not around Combeferre.

He doesn’t regret anything. Especially not now, marching out of the school with Combeferre and Courfeyrac flanking him, close enough that their arms brush together on occasion. He is glad, in fact, that Combeferre is allowed to stay. He wants to be a doctor one day, and he needs to stay in school for that to happen and Enjolras has put his dream in jeopardy more than enough already. 

And now they have Courfeyrac.

Enjolras knows that together, the three of them will be unstoppable.

\--------------------

Two weeks later is the first time Enjolras has to go to school without Combeferre. Even he is surprised by how fast he can get himself expelled from a public school. He knows his parents had hoped that without Combeferre he would be calmer, blamed his behaviour on the influence of the other boy, but Enjolras had felt untethered without him; no one to absorb his ideas, no one to temper his fire, no one to stop him from exploding, bright and loud and fierce if only in an attempt to take down the establishment with him. He had a destination in mind, but no one to lead him there, and every step was skipped to his end and ruin.

By the time he is sixteen and no school will take him - his parents money be damned - he is spending most of his nights at either Combeferre’s or Courfeyrac’s. Enjolras believes in education as a basic right to all, and even if he doesn’t attend classes himself, he refuses to fall behind and he spends hours pouring over their notes and quizzing them from text books. Courfeyrac works on making his handwriting more legible. Combeferre never gets impatient with the two of them pestering him. The three of them prop each other up. A triangle. A triumvirate.


	3. Bahorel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras gets into a fight, makes a friend, then gets into another fight.

At seventeen, Enjolras no longer has a permanent place of residence. His parents haven’t kicked him out, not in so many words - that would be embarrassing - but they have been slowly removing his presence from their lives. The last night he spends in his parent’s house, Enjolras sleeps on the floor of what used to be his bedroom, fully clothed, with two of his jackets for a pillow. The contents of his wardrobe have been strewn in every direction, but he can’t find any of his books underneath the mess. He assumes he won’t ever find them again.

His parents don’t dare tell him to leave their house in fear of losing face with their neighbours. Sending him away to boarding school would only be admitting that they can not control him, and if anything happened to him, it would reflect badly on them. They do not tell him to leave, but it appears as if they have decided to make his stay in their home as uncomfortable as possible. 

So Enjolras decides to leave. 

Both Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s parents offer him their houses to live in, but Enjolras doesn’t feel right invading their homes, no matter that they insist he is not an imposition. Instead he alternates between the two, never spending more than three nights in a row at either. He’s had his own bed in Combeferre’s room since the both of them were maybe five or six - bought after the amount of times his parents would find him asleep on the floor instead of leaving - but he has to draw the line when Courfeyrac’s father offers to buy him one for their house, too. He doesn’t like the idea of them spending money on him, and instead tells him that he will buy himself an inflatable mattress and sleep on that instead. 

All he can afford is the kind that only fills to about five centimetres thick, and his decision to sleep on that every night lasts two or three visits before Courfeyrac needles him into sharing the bed with him instead. Courfeyrac’s bed is king sized, and comfortable beyond a doubt. Big enough for neither of them to be anywhere near each other sharing it, but in the morning they find that they have drifted towards each other in their sleep, as if seeking something solid. The next night Enjolras goes to lie down on the inflatable mattress again, and Courfeyrac gives a snort of annoyance, complaining that it’s cold, and Enjolras is warm like the sun, or at the very least a hot water bottle, and would he please just get in the bed already. After that, it just becomes habit.

\--------------------

After the debacle with the mattress, Enjolras decides he needs to get a job.

The problem inherent, however, that he has never had a job before, and has no idea where to start looking for one. He had asked Combeferre’s father for advice to begin with, but he had simply waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and told him that he didn’t have to worry about money while he was staying with them. Enjolras isn’t comfortable with that arrangement, however; doesn’t want his way paved through life as if he is something special and different, doesn’t want people to _give_ him anything when he has every opportunity to get it for himself. And so he goes on the job hunt alone, when everyone else is at school or at work.

Enjolras’ first job at the library lasts all of four weeks. The librarian had hired him to work at the counter because she remembered Combeferre as a studious and hardworking boy, and Enjolras in association with him. He receives his first warning after he lectures a customer for five minutes straight on the poisons of the capitalist system. Eventually, the other boy had stammered out that he was only borrowing Milton Friedman’s _Freedom and Capitalism_ as reference material for an essay before he fled the library without his book. Enjolras had felt bad for scaring him off - bad, and also frustrated that people were running from the truth instead of listening - but his resolve to not do anything else that might cause him to lose his job lasts only until he he’s dragged to the police station with a split lip and bruised knuckles after an incident at a protest 

After that, Enjolras starts working at the local supermarket unpacking deliveries from the trucks that drop off stock; kept far away from customers. 

With the money he makes from his job, Enjolras buys, and then cooks, dinner two nights a week at both Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s houses, since none of their parents will accept rent. 

Enjolras may not have a permanent place of residence, but it’s definitely a step up from when he did.

\--------------------

It’s on his way to Courfeyrac’s house after work that Enjolras meets Bahorel. Enjolras has groceries piled so high in his arms that he nearly walks straight into the small kid with blond curls like his own who comes sprinting out of the alley in front of him. He’s putting down his packages to try and figure out a way to carry them so they won’t obstruct his vision when he hears a grunt of pain coming from where the kid had been running from. 

Enjolras rounds the corner into the alleyway and takes a quick stock of what is happening. The big man in the centre is holding his own, and he lashes out at one of his attackers with a grin through a split lip, but he’s outnumbered five to one and surrounded. No matter how good you may be, you can’t defend your front when you’re watching your back, and Enjolras doesn’t hesitate to throw himself bodily into the fight. 

By the time the police arrive on the scene - drawn by the big man’s whoop of joy as he lands a punch and then falls flat on his arse when one of the other’s kicks his legs out from under him - they can’t handcuff Enjolras because he’s pretty sure he’s broken two of his fingers on his left hand, and three of their opponents have bowed out and ran. 

They don’t talk in the back of the police car. The other man laughs quietly to himself the whole way to the station and Enjolras wonders briefly if he chose the wrong side in the fight. But he has never been able to see someone outnumbered and not step up to help.

The police put them in the same holding cell for conveniences sake. It’s the second time Enjolras has been held in this station, and he sits down on the bed to wait until Combeferre or Courfeyrac finish school so he can call them to come bail him out. 

Almost immediately the big man speaks, and Enjolras wonders if his voice is usually this horse, or if the fight - the laughing and the shouting - has paid a toll. “This isn’t your first time in here, then?” He asks, and Enjolras meets his eyes steadily.

“No. Not your’s either?” It’s a statement, rather than a question.

The man grins and he doesn’t even flinch as it opens the cut on his lip a little more. “I can tell. You didn’t look around for the exits, you just settled in for the wait.” He laughs again, and Enjolras finds himself smiling with him. “I’m Bahorel.”

“Enjolras.” Enjolras replies, and gets to his feet to shake Bahorel’s hand, forgetting for a moment about his fingers and having to suck in a gasp when Bahorel claps it.

Bahorel drops his hand immediately and winces in sympathy. “You’ve got guts and you’re quick, but you lack technique. You’re lucky you didn’t hurt yourself more with that left hook.”

Enjolras is still running on adrenaline, fire pumping through his veins and screaming at him to take on the world. He feels himself setting his shoulders and taking a step forward before he even realises what he’s doing.

“Prove it.” He says, and Bahorel’s grin turns into a knife.

\--------------------

Enjolras is fast, and he’s stronger than he looks from the heavy lifting he does with supermarket deliveries, but even so, he has to bow out after five minutes. The definitely-now-broken fingers don’t help, of course, but more than that, Bahorel is simply made for this; with a frame to match his strength, and quicker than he has any right to be. And obviously trained, in a way that Enjolras tells him he would pay money to be. Bahorel agrees, but on the condition that Enjolras tell him why he stepped into a fight that had nothing to do with him.

By the time school finishes and Courfeyrac has raided the bag Enjolras left at his house for bail money, Enjolras has kicked off his shoes and is standing on the sole bed in the cell, talking about the necessity of people joining together in the fight against corruption and oppression, to never leave someone to stand alone when you have the ability to help. No matter the consequences to your own person. Bahorel sits on the floor, leaning back on his palms with his legs stretched out in front of him. He can’t help the snorts of laughter that escape him every time Enjolras runs his broken fingers through his hair and flinches, but doesn’t stumble over his words. But otherwise he sits and listens in solemn silence.

Enjolras leaves the police station with more bruises than he entered with, and Bahorel’s phone number shoved into his back pocket. Bahorel leaves with a head full of ideas, new causes to fight for, and the address of the Musain scrawled hastily up his arm.


	4. Grantaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire can be kind of an arsehole (and he means to be). Enjolras can be kind of a jerk (but he never means to be). Everything is kind of absolutely Bahorel’s fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it obvious that I'm always super nervous about writing Grantaire?

Once Bahorel joins them, it becomes no longer viable to meet in Combeferre’s house. The added body and noise aside, with the addition of Bahorel they stop being a group of three friends discussing political developments, and become a group of like-minded individuals looking to affect change. Not that they don’t like Bahorel, because of course they do, but Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac understand each other completely, and they know each other’s positions on issues before they begin to speak about them. Bahorel is different. There is an ease to the way he slips into their group, but not always in the merging of their opinions. But with Bahorel comes genuine debate that isn’t facilitated by someone playing reluctant devil’s advocate; debate that demands to be heard. 

With that in mind, they move their group from the quiet of Combeferre’s home, to the mess and noise and public of the Musain café. The first meeting of Les Amis de l’ABC, Bahorel cries for a good minute and a half about them all growing up to be proper anarchists. And while Enjolras takes objection to the term - he doesn’t want violence, though he understands the necessity of it; doesn’t want anyone to get hurt, doesn’t want the legitimacy of their group to be traded for some cheap adrenaline and burning muscles - he does agree with the sentiment. The time for idle talk in quiet corners has passed. Change does not come without action, and action needs a voice. And it needs to start somewhere where others can hear its call. The Musain will be their Tennis Court.

\--------------------

During their second official meeting Enjolras runs his voice half horse trying to talk over the noise coming from the counter. The man at the centre of the group of people spends the whole night telling long-winded stories in a voice that carries throughout the café, and makes everyone around him laugh and groan in equal measure. Enjolras tries not to pay attention and carries on talking regardless of the noise, but he can’t help but glance over every now and then. There is a clear line of sight between him and the other man, as if he has made it that way, and every time Enjolras sneaks a look he is staring right at him, even as he charms his audience. As if he wants to tell his stories directly to Enjolras.

At the end of the meeting Bahorel calls out to the grinning man, and introduces him as a friend from his boxing class. Grantaire comes to them armed with cynicism and apathy and alcohol on his breath. When Bahorel tells him what they’re here for, he scoffs loudly and says “Another group of rich kids trying to boost their resume? Come on, Bahorel, I thought you were done with that, same as me” and Enjolras is too frustrated with his attitude - too immediately on guard when faced with someone who will not choose a side - to notice that, in the five or so minutes Enjolras takes to tell him why he’s wrong, not all of his sighs are dismissive. 

\--------------------

Enjolras had not expected to see Grantaire again, except perhaps casually around town or at the Musain, and so he does not even try to hide his surprise when he sees him next, sitting at their meeting table already talking with Bahorel. 

He sighs his non-dismissive sighs with far more regularity this time - almost fond, though they do not know each other well enough for fondness - and Enjolras is about to tell him to find someone who can better appreciate what those sighs imply in the way that he deserves, when Bahorel looks at his watch, jumps slightly, and interrupts him to remind Grantaire that he has an early class in the morning and he should go home to sleep. Grantaire scoffs at the reminder and tells him offhandedly that he dropped out of university because he doesn’t believe in it anymore. 

It takes ten minutes and a grudging laugh from Combeferre, the traitor, for Enjolras’ speech on the importance of education to trail off into a brief, sullen silence. Grantaire has spent the last five minutes of it with his head buried in his arms on the table, periodically murmuring things Enjolras isn’t interested in listening to, although the words “pretty” and “painful” do make repeat appearances. Bahorel is practically crying with laughter and Combeferre and Courfeyrac have cracked more than a few smiles and Enjolras will get them back for their betrayal later, but there are more important things. He needs to make Grantaire _see_ , needs to make him understand the uselessness of throwing away the education easily offered to him for no good reason, the insidiousness of apathy and inaction to the aid of those who claim others to be worth less than them.

He strides over to stand across the table from Grantaire’s bent and curly head, and slams his palm down on the wooden bench. It is a slow night at the Musain, and there are no customers. The owner is in the back room cleaning, but Grantaire is so close and not watching and he jumps at the noise, head shooting up from his arms, startled. He stares up at Enjolras and his eyes are bright and shining and there is colour on his cheeks. 

He whispers “Apollo”, and for a moment Enjolras is so mad that he doesn’t even notice Grantaire leave.

\--------------------

Once Grantaire slinks away, their gathering breaks up quickly. Enjolras would prefer to stay behind to make sure that Courfeyrac and Bahorel leave safely, would prefer not to leave anyone behind, but Combeferre has some kind of meeting with a university tomorrow and needs to be well rested, and Enjolras will not risk waking him up when he gets back to his house if he doesn’t go with him now.

As he’s packing his laptop into his bag, Enjolras can’t help but overhear Bahorel and Courfeyrac’s conversation. Bahorel’s eyes are still damp, and he laughs out “That was better than I ever dared hope”, and if Enjolras wondered why he invited Grantaire along to their meeting despite him being openly uninterested in their ideals, he knows now. “Grantaire looked at him like he saw a god the other day, and then he started talking. I mean, R is drawn to people who believe in things even if he doesn’t want to admit it, but he looked at Enjolras like he hung the moon and stars with his faith alone.” He laughs again to soften the impact of his words, but Enjolras feels like a vice has been tightened around his chest, Bahorel’s frankness making his breath come short and sharp. He can’t be that for someone else. He has nothing to give to another person, no part of his body or his time that he can spare for anything other than fighting for a change. He values individuals, of course; his friends are everything to him, but apart from those few exceptions, Enjolras has always been more interested in humanity as a whole, in changing the human condition rather than focusing on any particular person. He has no time for romance, especially not with someone who belittles his ideals.

Bahorel is still talking. “God, if it was a cartoon his eyes would’ve turned into hearts or something. I’ve never seen someone fall so fast. He wants Enjolras to bang him so badly.” 

Here, Courfeyrac laughs along with Bahorel, but when they stop, his voice is serious. “You have to tell him Enjolras probably won’t ever be interested. It’s just, I don’t want him to get hurt because of this, and Enjolras would hate it if he was, too. He would only be mad at himself.” And Enjolras can’t listen to this conversation anymore. He feels his stomach in his feet as he hurries outside to catch up with Combeferre.

\--------------------

Enjolras realises that he’s being hypocritical about the whole school thing. He may not always be observant when it comes to other people, but he is self-aware, and he knows that he made conscious choices that got him expelled, with the express knowledge that expulsion was the likely result. And while he may not have dropped out, he as good as did; like Grantaire, he too was disenfranchised with the system and wanted out, but he left with a bang, rather than a sigh. He did it because he believed so completely in what he was saying and doing, because he could not sit quietly and let things just _happen_ to people around him, let them be stopped from reaching their true potential, from gaining their freedom. Not simply because he didn’t _want_ to go anymore.

Enjolras does not regret doing anything that led to his multiple expulsions. But it’s possible he does resent never finishing _lycée_ , and it is equally possible he may have used Grantaire’s decision to leave as an outlet for his own feelings of inadequacy for failing the education that he preaches so passionately. It wasn’t fair of him, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself. Just the fact that Grantaire hadn’t _cared_ that he was throwing away the opportunities life gave him, hadn't even fought him on his accusations or defended himself, just gave up, that he had seen education as a frivolous activity to be put down at will, goes against everything they stand for.

Enjolras is also confused at himself, for the way he reacted to the knowledge that Grantaire is interested in him. He has seen both Bahorel and Courfeyrac giving him second looks. There had been a week or so when they were fourteen when Combeferre had blushed and stuttered around him so much that, more than once, Enjolras had legitimately feared that his friend was dying; and he is closer than Combeferre than anyone, Courfeyrac a close second. 

He knows that not everyone who stops to listen to him talk does so because of what he has to say. He knows he is not the one affected by what they fight for, but he gets noticed for the way he looks, and he uses that to spread awareness and collect donations and encourage people to come along to rallies; to listen to what is being said, and see what is being done. It has never stopped him from approaching people before.

Enjolras does not understand why it feels different with Grantaire, and he doesn’t like that he’s allowing it to affect him so.


	5. Joly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras has a run in with a knife. Grantaire panics. Joly finds everything terribly amusing.

Enjolras had insisted on being taken to Combeferre, but Grantaire is the one with the driver’s license and the car. So he ends up at the university instead. 

He had been walking to Combeferre’s when he had almost collided with Grantaire stepping out of a small art gallery. It’s not the first time he and Grantaire have seen each other outside of the Musain, but it’s the first time they’ve been alone together, and their brief conversation was mostly dominated by Enjolras, Grantaire evasive about why he had been in the gallery. Enjolras has the vague notion that Grantaire had been studying art at university, but he had thought he had given that up along with school. Apparently not. It’s nice to know that Grantaire has interests outside of cynicism.

When Enjolras had tried to step out of the conversation and be on his way, Grantaire had insisted on tagging along. Enjolras didn’t want to give him any false hope, but he hadn’t been able to thing of a nice way to tell him not to bother. So Grantaire fell into step with him, and they walked together in silence. It was pleasant, actually, to have someone walking with him, and Grantaire is dependable company. Even after Enjolras had made him flee from his first meeting, he has come along to every one since, and although he spends them half asleep and drinking and only contributes to conversation to tell them nothing they do is going to work and they should just not bother, he still turns up and listens. Once he had corrected Courfeyrac on a date for a reference under his breath, then had gone so red and blustery with embarrassment that Enjolras had rubbed what he had thought were soothing circles on his back, but Grantaire had only turned an even deeper shade of red and almost tripped over his feet in his rush to get to the counter and more alcohol. 

So the quiet walk side-by-side had been nice for all that it was unnecessary, but the silence had been its undoing. They had barely walked two blocks when they heard a distressed noise. Enjolras had promised Combeferre he wouldn’t go into alleys looking for trouble after the incident with Bahorel. His fingers had bothered him for weeks, every time he forgot that they were broken and tried to do something simple. Like put on clothes. But he and Grantaire looked at each other at the cry and that promise was forgotten.

Halfway down the alleyway they saw a man and a woman. The man was facing away from the both of them, but the woman had her handbag held out towards him, strap resting over her loosely curled fingers. Enjolras felt Grantaire’s hand brush against his arm, but it never caught - he was already moving towards the mugger.

Enjolras called out to the man when he was standing almost right behind him, and when the mugger turned he had about a second to think that he probably should’ve confronted him from a distance before he lashed out at him, knife clutched too tightly in his hand. The blade caught him high on the arm, and Enjolras barely had time to register the pain before Grantaire pushed him aside and punched the mugger in the face. 

His knife clattered to the ground and the mugger sprinted off out of the alley, clutching at his nose, but Grantaire and Enjolras did not watch him leave. Enjolras had already undone the loose, low-hanging knot of the tie he was wearing around his neck but he couldn’t wrap it around the wound himself. Grantaire reached out to take it and tied it around his arm with trembling fingers, though the fabric was pulled tight. Enjolras barely registered the way that Grantaire’s whole arm seemed to shake as his fingers brushed lightly over the now-covered cut - too busy trying to explain to the girl that she didn’t need to call him an ambulance, he can get to a hospital just fine; she should call the police and report the mugger and really, she doesn’t need to thank him, he was just doing what any descent person would - but when they moved towards Grantaire’s car and his hand fell away, Enjolras felt the pain more clearly.

His arm had not bled overly much, but the cut was deep. Enjolras had said it was not bad enough to worry about stitches and to just take him to Combeferre’s, but Grantaire had refused, which is how Enjolras finds himself at the university. 

\--------------------

Grantaire, it turns out, is good friends with a boy in his third year of a medical degree, and he tells Enjolras that medical students are always looking for victims to practice giving stitches to. He laughs as he says it, but even Enjolras - who has difficulty with faces at the best of times, and can almost never read someone’s expressions unless he knows them well - can tell that Grantaire’s smile is fake. If nothing else, the way that his hands shake as they grip the steering wheel is a dead giveaway, and Enjolras almost asks if Grantaire would prefer him to drive them instead. But there is almost no one else on the road anyway, and his arm does hurt quite a bit. Besides that, he can’t drive.

He has no choice then but to go along with Grantaire to the university, and he tells him as much, muses that the only way he could get out of it would be to jump out of a moving car, and then he _would_ actually need to go to the hospital. Grantaire chuckles at that, and tells him to cheer up, because he will be helping a young doctor’s education by relenting. Enjolras almost flinches then. Education is still a sore topic for the two of them, and he hadn’t meant to start a fight, but calm Grantaire’s trembling down with some conversation. But when he turns his head to catch Grantaire’s eyes, they are wide and sincere.

Grantaire’s friend is named Joly, and when he introduces him to Enjolras he holds the “l” so his name sounds more like the English word for happy. From the way that he grins hugely at the two of them Enjolras can tell that the nickname is appropriate, but when Grantaire tells him why they’re there, his face becomes serious almost immediately, and he tuts as he prods at Enjolras’ arm. 

In the end Enjolras does not need stitches, which comes as no surprise (he’s had enough injuries that have needed to be stitched up that he knows the difference), but he lets Joly do them anyway; ostensibly for practice, although truthfully for the look of worry in Grantaire’s eyes despite Joly’s diagnosis. He did step up to defend him after all, even if he did get slightly stabbed before he moved into action. Enjolras sends a quick text to Combeferre as Joly prepares to close up the cut on his arm, and then settles back let his chatter with Grantaire wash over him.

As Joly threads needle through flesh, Enjolras would be worried about the way he keeps taking his eyes off the cut to look up at his face and grin a grin that is equal parts delighted and mischievous, if he weren’t equally concerned by the way Grantaire turns a darker shade of red every time it happens; sitting on on of the tables in the classroom, swinging his legs and looking anywhere but the two of them. Enjolras didn’t even notice him jump up to get on the table, but he must have. He’s too short to simply have sat down. Enjolras makes a note to ask him how he got to light on his feet, and if he could possibly teach him.

When Joly is done, Grantaire finally agrees to take him to Combeferre, and when Enjolras thanks Joly for his help, he does so along with an offer to come along to the next meeting at the Musain. Joly agrees without even asking what Les Amis meets for.

\--------------------

Joly spends his first two weeks of Les Amis meetings sitting silently next to Grantaire and handing him drinks every time he talks about how useless it is to go to protests or fundraise or volunteer because nothing is ever going to change so why even bother. Admittedly Grantaire does leave the Musain drunker than usual, but Enjolras is so well disposed at him for stopping Grantaire’s nihilistic rants that, even if they didn’t have an open door policy for who is allowed to organise meetings and speak at them, he would’ve told Joly “of course” anyway when he approaches him with the request at the end of the second week.

The next week Joly runs a meeting on hospital funding and overcrowding. Grantaire doesn’t make a single disparaging comment, just sits quietly at his table and sketches, which Enjolras assumes is in support of his friend. Truthfully, however, he is not paying much attention. He is too proud of Joly, of the way his eyes light up and his cheeks flush, only half influenced by alcohol and nerves. Of the way he slams his fist on the table and some of the café’s patrons turn to stare at them. And not all look away after a few minutes.

The people are listening.


	6. Feuilly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras never really got the typical highschool experience, but he feels a sudden rush of kinship with those kids who stuttered over their words when they spoke to their crushes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Return of the vaguely pretentious random French words!

If Enjolras were a more dramatic man he would fling himself down into his seat. It’s not that they always talk about schooling, but the right to education has been one of Les Amis primary concerns since their group was only Enjolras and Combeferre. It’s the only issue that they all have had personal experience with, schooling, and so it comes up often. And he and Grantaire have been having the same argument about it since they met. 

Enjolras is not against arguing - debate, after all, is a healthy and essential part of the construction of an informed opinion - but he objects to pointless arguments for the sake of being contrary and undermining legitimate discussion with pessimism. It’s a waste of time, rehashing the same old speech at Grantaire when there are more important things going on, people who don’t have the choice to get in, let alone the luxury of choosing to get out and he hates that Grantaire keeps bringing it up and derailing their conversation, drawing the attention back to him. Enjolras also hates that he lets him, that Grantaire’s apathy gets so under his skin and distracts him from what needs to be talked about.

Because he is not as dramatic as Courfeyrac likes to tell people, he sits down carefully, although he glares at Grantaire as he does so. Grantaire isn’t looking at him, staring down instead at the table. Joly is watching him, though, and he mouths “sorry” to Enjolras even as he pats Grantaire on the back. He is his best friend, after all. 

It’s the sixth or so time Enjolras and Grantaire have had the same argument, and Enjolras can no longer deny that at least a part of it stems from a disappointment in himself - as much as his expulsions were in defiance of an uninspired education system, he can’t help but regret that he never finished, even if he doesn’t regret the reasons why he didn’t. Combeferre has been encouraging Enjolras to take up night school ever since the first _lycée_ turned him away, and he decides that there is probably some wisdom in that. 

When he gets back to Courfeyrac’s house, he enrols himself in some classes.

\--------------------

 

The school is located on the other side of town; not too far to walk if he had the time, but not practical if he wants to return to wherever he’s staying the night without waking the people kind enough to take him in. Due to an unfortunate habit of getting distracted and lost in his own head (and likely his record works against him too), Enjolras doesn’t have a driver’s licence, and so he needs someone to drive him to and from his classes. Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Joly all have their own cars, but they also all have school to go to themselves, and while they offer to give him lifts Enjolras will not have them spending their time on him.

Instead, Grantaire takes him to his first night class. He’s not sure what he expected of the drive, but it is not the near-silence of the car, interrupted only by several aborted attempts at singing by Grantaire. Truthfully, Enjolras does not mind the quiet. When he speaks people are drawn to him like magnets, opening up at his words like flowers to the sun. It’s what he wants, what he’s always wanted, for people to listen to him, but he is just has happy to sit in silence and listen to the world go on around him. Grantaire however, Enjolras knows, has never been comfortable with quiet. He tells stories at the Musain after their meetings that have them all in stitches, but he rarely speaks of anything consequential, which Enjolras assumes is why he is not talking now, and he is thankful. 

He’s not nervous about going back to schooling per say, but he is on edge about it nevertheless. He knows himself well enough to realise that he’s looking for a fight - remembrances of blinkered institutions flashing through his head, institutions that deemed him unteachable and so not worth their time, telling him to sit down and just accept the way things are - and he wouldn’t care where that fight came from and Grantaire is really the only person around. He hates feeling this way, so off balance and struggling to keep control. He shouldn’t. He should be better than this; logical and calm, passionate in his ideas, but measured in his actions. He has watched recordings of great speakers and leaders who changed the world, and their words are fiery anger and fury but when they step away from the podium they are impeccable. Enjolras knows he shouldn’t wear his emotions so openly, and he hates that he does, hates that others can see how he’s going to react, hates the feeling that one wrong word could set him on fire and burn him up too bright and too fast. He’s working on it.

But Grantaire doesn’t do anything to draw attention to himself, and they pull up out front of the school without talking to each other. Enjolras says his thanks, and slips out of the car. 

\--------------------

It’s not the beginning of the school year, so Enjolras assumes the boy standing on the steps of the building and stating at the car ring is waiting to give him an introduction. At first glance he appears older than Enjolras (although everyone Enjolras’ age looks older than him); around the same height, but broader. The cuffs of his jeans are fraying and despite the fact that it is night, there are flecks of paint on his hands and arms and shirt, as if he has not had time to shower or change before coming here.

The man’s name, when Enjolras introduces himself, is Feuilly. He _is_ older than Enjolras, although no older than Grantaire or Joly, and he is quite possibly the most interesting man Enjolras has ever had the pleasure of meeting.

Orphaned at eight, he fell out of the school system after the initial few years, although not for any personal choice; constantly pushed around to different foster homes for being ‘difficult’, he simply did not spend enough time in one place to maintain a coherent academic record. Like Enjolras, he continued to read anything educational he could get his hands on after leaving formal education, although unlike him Feuilly had had to scrounge around for the same kinds of books Enjolras could borrow from Combeferre and Courfeyrac. He spent as much time as possible in the library, and when he was old enough to get his first part time job - and then the second and third he worked concurrently - he started putting away all the money he could; either to buy text books, or to eventually attend the school they are both currently enrolled at.

Enjolras finds him fascinating and inspiring. Self-made and self-educated, all the while being shuffled around orphanages and foster homes for a tendency to start arguments. Feuilly was the kind of kid that Les Amis wanted to help, the kind that was failed by the system. And he is also the kind that didn’t let that stop him, who worked all the harder for it. Who wants to make sure that no one else has to struggle with the same things he did. He is the kind of man that Enjolras wants to be. The kind of man that he looks up to.

It takes a good minute of them speaking for Enjolras to realise that he never let got of Feuilly’s hand after that initial handshake, and then another five before the two of them think of moving inside. Enjolras thinks that he could keep talking to Feuilly forever.

\--------------------

Enjolras turns to make sure Grantaire left safely just before he and Feuilly are about to go into the school. He hadn’t even heard Grantaire get out of the car after they parked, wrapped up in his own thoughts as he was, nor did he notice him standing at the bottom of the steps staring at his feet as he talked with Feuilly. But he does now.

Enjolras calls down to him. “Is there anything you needed, Grantaire?”

Grantaire startles a little at being addressed and looks up at him, eyes filled with a profound sadness. Enjolras wants to reach out and comfort him, walk back down the stairs and hug Grantaire back to the easy, carefree look he wears at the Musain, but he is trying to make himself less obviously emotional. He has to start somewhere, right?

Before he can make a decision either way, Grantaire just shakes his head silently, and his gaze unfocusses somewhere over Enjolras’ shoulder. Enjolras grimaces slightly, but if Grantaire wont tell him what’s bothering him, there isn’t a lot he can do.

“If you’d like to sleep I can always find another way home.” Enjolras suggests, and Grantaire shakes his head again.

“I’ll be here.” He croaks out, and his voice sounds choked and Enjolras has no idea what he can do to help. He’s perfectly fine at conversation as long as people give him verbal cues, but he has trouble picking up on anything more subtle because of his difficulty with faces, and he often doesn’t recognise emotional needs without someone pointing them out to him. It’s why he is so open with Combeferre and Courfeyrac. But Grantaire only turns and walks back to his car without explanation and Enjolras is left to stare after him until he feels Feuilly’s hand on his shoulder.


	7. Jehan (+ Gavroche)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan braves the parting waters of people to recite Psalms. Gavroche is a brat (Gavroche is Enjolras) with a crush.

Protests - particularly those directed at the education system - that gather with the express permission of the State can be something of a double-edged sword. Often permits for such demonstrations are only issued for weekdays in an effort to stop students being able to attend. This only makes them want to go more in spite of the government, which ultimately requires them to choose between going to their classes or their protest _for_ better classes. Which is where the real trouble begins.

If they go to their classes then they open the movement to criticism that no one cares enough for it to be a true issue. A protest can not continue without protestors. However, if they go to the rallies then their opponents only say that they do not truly care about what they are protesting, if they are so casual about attending or not attending the educational institutions they claim to be wanting to change. Why should they have more classes if they couldn’t manage to turn up for the ones they did have?

For the most part, Les Amis de l’ABC participated in non-sanctioned protests, but occasionally Enjolras was invited to speak at official ones. He hated the way they censored him, how they constantly pushed his planned speeches further and further to the centre, not wanting to be seen as radicles, wanting to appeal to everyone. But these protests had their usefulness, and Les Amis used the time when Enjolras was speaking to watch the crowed and then hand out flyers to the next planned unofficial meet to those who seemed interested in what Enjolras had to say. And not only was it useful for networking, but it was heartening to see that they weren’t alone, that their group wasn’t the only one outraged by the status quo; that even though their methods did not always align - that some were not willing to go as far, that some didn’t even _want_ to go as far - they were only a part of a machine trying to change the world. 

So when the request for Enjolras’ presence at a protest came through for next Wednesday, they had only rolled their eyes at the predictability. But when it became apparent that only Grantaire could attend with him, the mood became more tense. 

Grantaire goes to every single protest that Enjolras speaks at without fail, though he never participates in any way; never makes a sound, never moves from where he places himself at the edge of the stage and to the right of the podium, looking up wide-eyed and silent while Enjolras speaks. He never hands out flyers or joins the rest of Les Amis onstage, and Enjolras constantly bemoans why he even bothers to come to them at all, if he’s only going to be useless about it. He’s the only one who doesn’t know.

\--------------------

Courfeyrac sneaks in through Combeferre’s bedroom window that night at 10pm and climbs into bed with Enjolras. He has his own key to the house, of course, they all do, but he claims that climbing in through the window is more exciting. When they allow themselves to indulge, Enjolras and Combeferre can not help but agree.

It is immediately clear that his unplanned visit was, in fact, planned. None of them have any time for half-truths or hesitant words, and as soon as Combeferre seats himself at the end of Enjolras’ bed - long legs stretched out over their shorter ones - Courfeyrac says “Grantaire.”

Enjolras sighs. “I think it will be alright. We get along well enough when we don’t talk about politics. He’s funny, and kind when he isn’t being hopelessly pessimistic or drunk, and he listens to me and what I say and generally does what I ask of him. He may be useless sometimes, and he may infuriate me others, but when he is not actively trying to do those things I do like him, you know.”

Enjolras looks first at Courfeyrac next to him, who has his nose screwed up in concentration. “ You’re speaking about politics at the rally. I don’t think you can avoid a conversation about it with Grantaire.”

Enjolras shakes his head. “You know as well as I that he never does or says anything at rallies. He speaks out against us constantly at meetings for reasons that I’m sure amount to nothing other than his own amusement, but he keeps quiet in public. I don’t think he wants to take our cause away from anyone, even if he doesn’t believe in it himself.”

Courfeyrac nods, satisfied with Enjolras’ belief that Grantaire won’t derail the protest with his comments without anyone standing beside him, and Enjolras won’t come away from the rally hating him. Courfeyrac enjoys Grantaire’s company; he’s fun and exciting and he can always find the prettiest person in the room and direct them Courfeyrac’s way (disregarding Enjolras, because Enjolras is always the most attractive person in the room but he’s also supremely uninterested and Courfeyrac was over him in that way after the first three times he met him because of that clear lack of interest. And also Grantaire would never direct Enjolras anyone’s way - Courfeyrac is starting to think he’ll never even try to catch his attention himself, and that is sad), and he would hate to have to cut him out of his life because he pissed off Enjolras to the point where he couldn’t stand him anymore.

Enjolras then looks to Combeferre. “You think?” he asks, right eyebrow raised sceptically, and Enjolras winces. Combeferre always knows him best, always knows what he is and isn’t saying. Enjolras shouldn’t have been so careless with his words.

“I know it will be alright.” He says, voice assured. “I will make it alright.”

Combeferre nods. He doesn’t like to admit it, even to himself, but irrational as it is, he truly believes Enjolras can make anything happen through his will alone.

When Enjolras wakes the next morning Courfeyrac has burrowed into his side seeking warmth, his dark curls tickling at Enjolras’ ear, and his feet have gone numb from where Combeferre has curled up over his legs like a cat. For a brief moment, Enjolras has the thought that there is nowhere else in the world where he would rather be, and that is when he knows that it can not continue like this.

\--------------------

Enjolras notices the way that the people move to get out of his way as he starts towards the edge of the stage, and while he thinks it polite, it is also counterproductive to his message. He is about to jump down off stage when he notices Grantaire standing there, hand stretched up to meet him and a grin playing about his features. Public speaking has always made Enjolras feel as light as air, likely to be carried away by any gust of wind or well constructed argument, and he takes Grantaire’s hand without even thinking about it.

The ground seems to rush back at him as the heat of Grantaire’s skin envelops his own hand, and Enjolras almost stumbles when he steps off the stage. He lets go of Grantaire’s hand as soon as he is sure of his stability, but he feels more grounded than he had a minute ago; not as calm as he would after a few moments in silence with Combeferre, but certainly capable of rational conversation, where before he had only wanted to fight. 

People do not often approach him after his speeches at rallies. Rather, they tend to gather around Courfeyrac as he smiles and charms his way into giving out pamphlets and collecting email addresses, but more often than not they will sneak furtive glances his way when they think he’s not looking. The kid who approaches him now does no such thing, makes no attempts at coyness nor shyness, but marches his way, eyes bright with determination. He’s younger than Enjolras, though not by much, and while he dresses in bright, garish colours that make others in the crowd either stare openly or look away like he blinds them, there is a feeling of profound melancholy that practically radiates off him. He seems to clash as much within himself as his clothes do on the outside, and Enjolras likes him immediately. 

“Jehan.” The kid says, and sticks out his hand for Enjolras to shake, which he takes with a smile. “Your speech was inspiring. And beautiful. I felt as if your soul was overflowing, and I could see its light in your words. It reminded me of a poem, actually, or perhaps a Psalm. _And in the shadow of your wings I will sing for joy_.”

Enjolras does not know much about the Psalms, but he feels his cheeks heat up all the same. People say his speeches are inspiring all the time, but no one has ever told him they were beautiful. Radical, yes. Manic, often. Terrifying, even, sometimes. But no one has ever said that they reflected his soul and that it was beautiful. He is about to tell Jehan so, when he is interrupted by a scoff from Grantaire.

“ _My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me?_ ” he says, and Grantaire is often mocking, but he never has the note of unkindness his teasing is carrying now. “Don’t you think you’re batting a bit out of your league here, kid? Shouldn’t you be at school now?”

Jehan doesn’t seem to even hear Grantaire’s comment, only stares hard at Enjolras’ face. Enjolras does his best to ignore it as well, but inside he is both furious and confused. Grantaire has never mentioned nor even hinted at any kind of attraction since that first day. He had thought that Bahorel had explained the situation and Grantaire had decided it was a battle he had lost before it had begun and Enjolras had been glad of the fact that nothing had developed into becoming awkward. He had considered it a win for everybody, and he doesn’t understand where Grantaire’s tone is coming from now, nor does he appreciate it. He wants to turn and demand that Grantaire apologise, or at the very least wring the truth from him, but he puts those emotions aside for later. He’s been teaching himself to compartmentalise.

Nevertheless, when he reaches to clasp Jehan on the shoulder and very pointedly invite him to the next meeting at the Musain, his grip is tighter than he had intended. 

\--------------------

Two months later, at another rally, Enjolras is again approached by someone in the crowd. Gavroche is all of ten; a blond, scruffy ball of energy who keeps trying to grab at Enjolras’ hands and sleeves and Grantaire laughs happily as he holds him back by the collar of his coat. 

Enjolras explains that he’d love to have Gavroche along for their meetings, but when he’s older. The boy blushes bright red, and he insists that he can outfight anyone and knows everyone’s secrets and he’s old enough to look after his little brothers so he is old enough to take down the system and Grantaire only laughs louder and harder and ruffles the boy’s hair. Truthfully, Enjolras is impressed with Gavroche’s tenacity, but he also can’t bring himself to place a child in potential danger. He does hope that Gavroche doesn’t lose that passion as he grows older, however, and funnels it into something good.

Grantaire is friendly with Jehan now, it’s true, but he had taken a while to warm up to him, and Enjolras doesn’t understand why his meeting Gavroche is any different from the time he had met Jehan. He doesn’t understand Grantaire at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incase anyone is interested, Jehan quotes from Psalm 63 - a Psalm of David from when he was in the wilderness of Judah - My Soul Thirsts for You (because I’m super interested in the part that says Jehan cares about revolution and change and also God. Please give me all the opportunities to talk about religion thanks):
> 
>  
> 
> _O God, you are my God;_  
>  _earnestly I seek you;_  
>  _my soul thirsts for you;_  
>  _my flesh faints for you,_  
>  _as in a dry and weary land where there is no water. ___  
>  _So I have looked upon you in the sanctuary,_  
>  _beholding your power and glory._  
>  _Because your steadfast love is better than life,_  
>  _my lips will praise you._  
>  _So I will bless you as long as I live; ___  
>  _in your name I will lift up my hands,_
> 
> _My soul will be satisfied as with fat and rich food,_  
>  _and my mouth will praise you with joyful lips,_  
>  _when I remember you upon my bed._  
>  _and meditate on you in the watches of the night;_  
>  _for you have been my help,_  
>  _and in the shadow of your wings I will sing for joy._  
>  _My soul clings to you;_  
>  _your right hand upholds me._
> 
> _But those who seek to destroy my life_  
>  _shall go down into the depths of the earth;_  
>  _they shall be given over to the power of the sword;_  
>  _they shall be a portion for jackals._  
>  _But the king shall rejoice in God;_  
>  _all who swear by him shall exult,_  
>  _for the mouths of liars will be stopped._


	8. Bossuet and Musichetta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras’ mum is an alcoholic, Bossuet tries to fall down some stairs and Musichetta is everything and more.

Enjolras appreciates all that Combeferre’s and Courfeyrac’s families have done for him, and when he told them he was looking for his own place they had assured him that it wasn’t necessary and he wasn’t imposing, but he can’t keep living with his friends. They are both as dedicated to their cause as he is - in some ways, even more - and would never intentionally take his attention away from it, but they both mean so much to him and when they’re together it can feel like everything is right in the world because he is with his friends and they are happy. He can’t afford that distraction. He needs to be alone.

It’s no surprise, really, that Combeferre doesn’t approve of Enjolras getting his own apartment. Without someone to remind him, Enjolras has a habit of working well past the point of what would generally be considered a safe amount. Which secretly is another reason he is looking to move out. He knows that he can push past whatever wall is telling him to stop at these times. Or perhaps it’s not such a secret, judging by the disapproving looks Combeferre has been giving him ever since he announced his decision. However, it doesn’t stop him from standing behind Enjolras with a hand resting on his shoulder as Enjolras rings the doorbell of his parent’s house.

It’s been two years since Enjolras has seen his parents in in any capacity more than fleeting glimpses in the street. Regardless of this, the landlord of the apartment he wants to rent is insisting that he have their signature on the rental agreement. If it were anyone else Enjolras would have begged them to come along to his parents house with him to stop him doing anything stupid, but it’s Combeferre, and Combeferre knows what he needs without ever being asked.

\--------------------

His mother opens the door. When she sees the two of them standing there, she only stares for a moment, before closing the door again. Enjolras sighs and Combeferre squeezes his shoulder quickly before Enjolras rings the bell again. “I only need you to sign a rental agreement” he says when the door opens.

His mother nods. “Alright” she says, and then adds with a sneer in Combeferre’s direction “but _he_ can’t come in here.”

Enjolras tries to look unconcerned by her statement, but inside he is seething. “Combeferre can come in wherever he wants” he says, and sweeps into the building without a second glance at her, or even to see if Combeferre is following. He knows he will be.

There’s a wine bottle sitting on the kitchen bench and it’s almost empty. Enjolras immediately wishes that he came another day, or that he had not let Combeferre come with him. His mother is not particularly pleasant at the best of times, but she was raised to be polite and charming, and habits taught from birth are hard to break. Unless her tongue has been loosened with alcohol. Enjolras has been accused as being cruel at times, but his is always an unintentional cruelty, words spoken without thought to their repercussions or the effects they will have on others; no malice, just a lack of consideration in his haste to prove his point or win an argument. Impulsive action has never been part of his mother’s repertoire. She means every little thing she says, and every little piece of nastiness is chosen carefully to hurt as much as possible. Enjolras has no problems ignoring her, but he would not wish her on Combeferre now.

When he looks away from the bottle, he notices that she is glaring hatefully at Combeferre’s back, and so he places himself between them and thrusts the rental agreement into her hand. His mother glances over it briefly before placing it on the counter. “I need a witness to sign this.”

“Combeferre can witness.”

“Combeferre can not witness.” She sniffs. “I can’t in good conscience allow my witness to be so untrustworthy.”

“Then we will wait outside” and he wants to snarl it, but that would just mean she won, wormed her way under his skin. He knows when to pick his battles, and he really needs her to sign the agreement. He can say something later.

“You won’t” his mother says, and there is a smirk playing about her lips because she knows she is getting to him. “I’m not coming out after you. You can wait in here.”

Enjolras grits his teeth and sits down stiffly on the couch, Combeferre following. His mother leans against the bench. “So, Combeferre,” she practically purrs, and Enjolras wants to take his friend as far away as possible. “How is university?”

Combeferre has always been too polite. “It’s going well, thank you.” he replies, and Enjolras can see where this is going before it happens.

“And you want to be a doctor.” she muses. “I wonder, are you going to be as careless with your patients as you were with my son?”

Enjolras feels Combeferre stiffen, despite the distance between their seating positions, but to his credit he doesn’t show any other reaction. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

His mother laughs the overly polite laugh she taught herself for dinner parties with old, boring men. “It’s just that you led Enjolras so astray, filled his head with stories of revolution and violence and now look at him; so smart and never even finished _lycée_ because of what you taught him. And you’re at university to be a doctor. It hardly seems fair.”

Combeferre looks stricken and Enjolras wants to rage at his mother, to storm out of her house with Combeferre to take him away from here, rental agreement be damned, because there was not anything worse she could have said. Enjolras knows that there is some part of Combeferre that blames himself for Enjolras being expelled, that feels guilty about getting to go to university while Enjolras attends night school and no matter how many times he tells Combeferre it wasn’t his fault and that he made his own decisions, there is a part of Combeferre that hates himself a little for what he believes was his role in depriving his best friend of a normal formal education.

And he would have done it, if not for the doorbell ringing at that moment. His mother flashes them one last smile before she goes to answer. Enjolras takes Combeferre’s hand in his own. “She’s been drinking. You shouldn’t listen to her, it’s all cruel nonsense. You’re going to make a great doctor, and you never did any wrong by me. You know that, right?” he asks, and Combeferre nods stiffly, but he does look slightly better.

Enjolras hears his mother laugh a genuine laugh from the entrance hall, almost flirtatious, even, and then a few seconds later Courfeyrac comes bouncing into the kitchen. Enjolras would be surprised to see him, if not for the fact that Courfeyrac always seems to manage to be just where he needs him most, like he has some sixth sense that tells him Enjolras is about to do something stupid. His mother follows and she is smiling, actually smiling, and Enjolras doesn’t think he’s ever seen her smile in his life. It’s disconcerting, how much she looks like him.

“Would you like some coffee?” she asks, standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

“No thank you, ma’am” Courfeyrac beams, and Enjolras has the briefest flash of irrational dislike for his friend at that moment, though whether it’s because he is inherently distrustful of people who get along with his parents or because of the easy way Courfeyrac gets on with his mother when he himself has never been able to connect with her, he can’t know for sure. “I’m just here to make sure Enjolras gets back to my place safely.”

“Well I’ll just sign this agreement and you can take him home.” His mother walks over to the paper, pen in hand. “You can witness, correct?”

Courfeyrac nods, smiles, and Enjolras’ mother signs his rental agreement.

It’s not until the three of them are sweeping out of the house, his mother giving one last call of goodbye to Courfeyrac, that Enjolras realises that she never looked at Combeferre again once Courfeyrac arrived. He squeezes his wrist gently in thanks, and Courfeyrac smiles softly. 

\--------------------

They meet Bossuet when they’re moving Enjolras’ stuff into his new apartment. He doesn’t have a lot of things, so between the six of them that turn up at 10am, it only takes three trips from the car and up the stairs to have everything in the room. They’re standing around looking at the boxes, the flatpacked bed and mattress and otherwise empty room, when Joly shuffles in without knocking (leaning heavily on his cane, leg shaking slightly and Enjolras has a momentary flash of guilt for getting an apartment in a building without an elevator) and Bossuet follows. Joly had originally planned to meet with them to help move boxes when Bossuet had texted him and said that he had just been fired from his latest job and would he like to meet up now he had some spare time. They’ve been dating for a few weeks now, but his schedule has never lined up with anyone else’s for Bossuet to meet the rest of Les Amis. When Joly had tentatively asked if he could get him to bring along instead of helping, everyone had agreed immediately. 

Bossuet is maybe four or five years older than any of the rest of them and prematurely balding, but his smiles are as easy as Joly’s, and when Jehan expresses his deep regret of the loss of his job in this life of uncertainty Bossuet doesn’t seem put off. Instead, he offers a rueful grin and says that the only certainty in this life is that he will lose every job he has. Jehan smiles back. 

They can’t stay long, however, because they won’t have much time for each other over the next few days with Joly’s exams coming up soon, and Enjolras is sad to see the two of them go. As they turn to leave, Bossuet trips at the top of the stairs, and for a moment it seems as if he will go tumbling down the lot of them. They all make a step towards him as if they could possibly stop him, but it is Grantaire who catches him and hugs him tight to his body just as he rounds the corner from downstairs. Grantaire had promised along with the rest to help Enjolras move his things, but unlike Joly, he had not given a reason as to why he hadn’t turned up. Looking at him now, though, behind the surprise on his face for literally catching a grown man, Enjolras can see he has been drinking, and drinking heavily. It brings unpleasant memories of his mother only a few days ago, and he can’t keep the look of distaste from his face.

Bossuet doesn’t look shaken by his almost-fall, and it seems as if he has to struggle a little to extract himself from Grantaire’s grip. Once he manages to, though, he only smiles and holds out his hand. “Bossuet. Let me buy you a drink.”

Grantaire looks briefly over at the rest of them and seems about to decline, he did already promise to do something else after all, when he sees something - Enjolras can’t be sure what - and suddenly he looks desperately sad. Enjolras wants to ask him what’s wrong, to fix whatever may be troubling his friend, but he is only good at the latter, and only when what is wrong is something that can be fought. But it’s only for a moment, and Grantaire forces a smile on his face, taking the offered hand. “Grantaire. I can’t say no to that.” 

They walk down the stairs, shoulders brushing, and Joly only has time to send them all a confused look before hurrying off after his boyfriend and his best friend.

Enjolras is disappointed to see Grantaire go. Setting up his apartment would’ve been easier with his eye for detail. But he supposes that Feuilly is staying to offer his artistic eye, so Enjolras is not left completely to his own devices.

\--------------------

More and more of their protests have been turning violent of late, and Enjolras has given up trying to stop it. He doesn’t agree with violent protest in theory, he doesn’t want anyone to get hurt or arrested, and when rallies turn violent it just adds weight to the voices of those claiming that protests only exist as a way for kids to start fights, rather than as legitimate expressions of grievances. But in practice, it’s hard to deny the feeling that roars in his chest when someone throws that first punch or shouts that first obscenity. It’s the knowledge that people are actually listening to him, that his words are reaching them and touching their sense of outrage and desire for change, and it’s intoxicating. It makes him want to speak more, to shout louder, and once the crowd is chanting with him, it’s impossible to stop. 

He only wishes that Joly and Bossuet didn’t decide to bring Musichetta to this particular protest. Honestly, he wishes that they hadn’t bought her to any protests just yet, and especially not for a first meeting. They’ve only known her for a few days, so no one else has met her just yet, but Enjolras likes Joly and Bossuet and he’s pretty sure they like him and he wants Musichetta to like him, too. But he knows what he looks like when he gives a speech, the image that he gives off.

He heard it on TV once, or read it in a book, he doesn’t remember. You’ve got to have the tombstones in in your eyes. That look that says you’re ready to die right here and now for what you’re doing, and daring your opponent to feel the same or to flee, because they’re never going to win if they don’t. 

He doesn’t understand why Joly and Bossuet bought her to a rally to meet him for the first time if they want her to like him. People don’t like him like this. They’re inspired by him, they’ll follow him to the ends of the earth, but they don’t _like_ him. 

But he looks into Musichetta’s eyes for the first time, and a graveyard looks back. They stare at each other in silence for a while before Enjolras offers her his hand to shake. He doesn’t know many women, just the mothers and sisters of the people he cares about. It’s one of his failings, and something he has always been meaning to rectify, and he has no good excuse as to why he hasn’t. He wonders now, though, if all girls stare up at you in a way that dares you to try something, to underestimate them and feel their wrath. If they all hoard defiance like a dragon hoards gold. He knows those feelings well, has them in his own heart.

\--------------------

Grantaire appears out of the crowd, smiling and happy in the way that he has been at every rally since he started offering Enjolras a hand off stage and Enjolras started taking it. Enjolras is glad to know that there is something he can do to make Grantaire feel more involved in their protests, and how much that involvement seems to be agreeing with him.

Grantaire throws his arms around Joly and Bossuet’s shoulders and squeezes in between the two of them. Enjolras and Musichetta turn away from each other, and Musichetta offers Grantaire a grin in return to his smile. When Joly introduces her as his and Bossuet’s girlfriend, Grantaire’s smile stays on his face, but it is fixed there, not natural as it was before, and when Musichetta invites him to have drinks with the three of them his eyes are distrustful when he begs out citing work.

Enjolras wonders what Grantaire saw in Musichetta that made him wary of her, and whether he sees it in Enjolras, too.


	9. Marius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marius is wearing and oversized coat, and he has freckles and fluffy hair and an air of a kicked puppy which screams “be nice to me.” Courfeyrac is charmed, but no one else is quite as convinced.

For his 18th birthday Courfeyrac gets his own apartment and money for a tattoo. Enjolras has two of them already and Combeferre five, but Courfeyrac has always chickened out out front of the glass window-front with the excessively large shop name and branding, and so Enjolras and Combeferre get their own money together so he will have to go through with it. He’s been talking about it since he was 15. Enjolras and Combeferre had both gotten tattoos the day they turned 16, and Courfeyrac had been adamant that he would too, but when the day came he hadn’t gone through with it. In the years since he’s been threatening to actually get the ink at periodic intervals, and Enjolras and Combeferre have finally had enough of the posturing.

It still takes almost two months to talk him into the tattoo artist’s chair. Once they’ve finally gotten him seated they make to go wait in the front room for him, but Courfeyrac’s hand shoots out to clasp desperately at Enjolras’. So Enjolras stands beside him the whole time, feeling his fingers going slowly numb from Courfeyrac’s tight grip. The tattoo artist gives him strange looks the entire session, and its only when it’s finished and Courfeyrac lets go of his hand that Enjolras realises that his sleeve has risen up and _liberté égalité fraternité_ can be seen looping around his own wrist as well. For a moment he wants to call Combeferre over and get him to roll up his sleeve too, so the artist can have something to really be judgemental about, but it’s late and Courfeyrac was nervous about coming in here in the first place; he doesn’t want to start at fight right now. 

They take Courfeyrac to a supermarket next, and Combeferre buys him a bottle of wine because “he won’t stop whining” about the pain in his wrist and Enjolras laughs, because everyone always thinks the pun in the name of their group was Courfeyrac’s idea, not Combeferre’s. When Courfeyrac picks up the bottle he clasps the neck in the hand just above his new tattoo. 

\--------------------

Enjolras is woken up at 6:30 the next morning by a phone call from Courfeyrac. He’s not much of a morning person, and normally he would snap about being woken up so early, but Courfeyrac sounds sheepish as he tells him about his walk home after the three of them separated in front of the supermarket last night.

He had taken the shortcut through the park and seen a boy leaning up against a tree with a suitcase resting at his feet. The boy’s name was Marius, and he had nowhere to stay after being kicked out of his grandfather’s house for fostering different political views. At this point in the story Enjolras sighs, because he knows how it ends. 

Courfeyrac has four dogs that he found wandering abandoned in the park and took home. He supposes a human was just the next step.

He tells Courfeyrac to bring the boy along to their next meeting. 

\--------------------

Courfeyrac is as good as his word, and they meet Marius at the Musain two days later. It’s a smaller meeting than usual, Feuilly off at work and Bahorel meeting up with a girl that he’s been bragging about for weeks, but they persevere regardless. Enjolras can immediately see why Courfeyrac wanted to help the boy he saw alone in the park. Marius is taller than Courfeyrac, but hunched in over himself so that he seems far shorter. He’s wearing an oversized coat, and he has freckles and fluffy hair and an air of a kicked puppy. It’s not an impression Enjolras particularly likes, truthfully, but it does scream “be nice to me”, and Courfeyrac always reaches out to help without thought to any consequences. It’s one of his most admirable qualities. 

Marius seems shy initially, offering up insightful comments for conversations but muttering them in the direction of his table, but evidently they must touch on a topic that he believes himself to be knowledgeable about, and almost immediately comes out of his shell. Unfortunately, he says all the wrong things.

Combeferre shuts him down, immediately and efficiently, and within moments the previously lively meeting has all but been evacuated. Courfeyrac is the last to leave, and when he shoots Enjolras a questioning look, Enjolras nods in return and Courfeyrac smiles sadly.

Otherwise alone, Enjolras turns back to see Marius curled up in himself and his coat, just as he had been before he decided to speak up. Enjolras loves Combeferre dearly, but the problem is that he is incredibly smart; he knows and reads so much, and from everywhere, educates himself on every issue he becomes exposed to, and can not fathom that other people do not have the means, skill or ability to do the same. Despite the fact that he grew up with Enjolras, he sometimes forgets that not everyone has parents who taught them about the wrongs in the world instead of just perpetuating them. Enjolras believes in the importance of self-education as well - it was all that he had for almost three years - but he knows how much of a struggle it can be, to shift through all of the junk and misconception that can be found out there just to find a nugget of truth, how many people can stumble onto misinformation and form their knowledge based on that. He sees much more worth in collaborative learning with people from all different backgrounds and available information. Enjolras will always primarily be an advocate for education, for teaching others who may not know as much as you, through no fault other than what can be blamed on their previous teachers.

Maruis looks like he might never speak again, staring down to where he’s scratching at the table with his thumb, and doesn’t look up when Enjolras sits down opposite him. Enjolras has never truthfully had much of an issue with displaying physical affection, but for whatever reason it makes people who aren’t Combeferre or Courfeyrac uncomfortable when he displays it. However, Marius doesn’t know him, and can’t have had much time to form an opinion of him, so he decides to chance an offer of comfort and puts his hand on his shoulder. Marius almost falls out of his seat in surprise, as if he hadn’t heard Enjolras approach him, but he doesn’t otherwise attempt to move away, just looks into his eyes, genuinely confused that Enjolras is still around instead of leaving like everyone else. 

Enjolras doesn’t like to think of himself as the kind of person who makes split second decisions on people’s character, but he also doesn’t like lying to himself about his own failings. Marius reminds him too much of his younger self, that angry kid who just kept talking and arguing and fighting about things he didn’t really understand and without any real objective research, disregarding any other opinion but his own. He doesn’t really like that attitude. Or Marius.

Honestly, it’s a little like how he felt about Grantaire to begin with, before he realised that Grantaire read every article that any of them referenced in meetings, and several followup books linked in their bibliographies. He knows, because Grantaire texts him sometimes with comments on whatever he had referred in the meeting earlier. The fact that he then insists on being relentlessly pessimistic about what he read doesn’t change the fact that he is honestly _trying_ to learn, and Enjolras would like him more if anything he said afterwards was useful even in opposition, rather than mostly just telling them not to even try, but he _does_ like Grantaire. His pessimism is his own choice, and Enjolras respects that he makes choices, even if he doesn’t agree with them.

Marius has not earned that. But he’d like for him to have the opportunity to; to learn, to expand his horizons. He’s clearly clever and articulate, he just needs to have some motivation. Which is what prompts Enjolras to invite him to come along to the next meeting.

Marius nods and mumbles something about thinking about it, and Enjolras smiles at him in a way that he hopes is encouraging. 

It’s only as Combeferre and Courfeyrac melt out of the shadows, one to apologise and the other to take Marius home with him, that Enjolras really has time to think on the fact that his friends just _left_ , rather than offer information to someone who is simply just misguided. He has always said that education was their primary objective, and it is a little worrying that their first response to ignorance is anger, rather than attempting to teach. Anger is well and good, but it is only truly effective when channeled into something productive. He doesn’t understand when their priorities shifted, but Les Amis haven’t done any activism that wasn’t a protest in a long time. Perhaps they’ve become too isolated, too caught up in platform discussion with the select group of people who can make it to protests, and not spending enough time with the people they want to help. It needs to change.

He also doesn’t understand why Grantaire was the second to leave, after Combeferre. Wouldn’t he like to have someone else around who also didn’t believe in their cause?


	10. Éponine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Éponine only comes to the Corinth once. Enjolras tries his hand at artistic expression. Or, Éponine and the process of radicalisation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re getting darker up in here! AKA let’s not forget that Les Amis participated in a violent revolution, ok thanks.
> 
> Let me just preface this by saying that I kind of hate the fact that I sort of shoe-horned Éponine into the role of "the victim" here. I can offer all kinds of reasons why it made sense to do it (she is intimately tied with Patron-Minette and they had to be introduced somehow, her death in the musical fulfils a similar role (she's not dying here)), but that doesn't change the fact that it's a crappy trend in writing.

Les Amis have returned to the streets in a renewed effort to collect donations for underprivileged students, and the group has grown exponentially in the process. It speaks to the growing awareness of their campaign that they soon become large enough that it becomes too disruptive to gather in the Musain café for their weekly meetings. The core group of them still spend time there together a few days a week, but official meetings need to move to a larger, emptier space.

It’s Grantaire who knows the city best, Grantaire who lives in the shadows, thrives in the back-alley bars and restaurants, in the dingy boxing clubs and wide open dance studios, Grantaire who walks home along the Seine by night breathing the city in, and watches the people ducking in and out of buildings, and sometimes he follows them inside. It’s Grantaire who finds them the Corinth; a drab wine-shop down an alley near his apartment that serves bad food and worryingly strong alcohol and always seems to be covered in a thin layer of dust. Authorities tended to avoid it. They all loved it.

\--------------------

Éponine turns up one day completely out of the blue. They’ve never seen her around before, never spoken to her at a protest or handed her a flyer, but the door swings open in the middle of a meeting and she walks in to the Corinth with her head held high, bringing in a blast of cold wind that causes everyone to look her way. She looks windswept and tired, oh so tired, but she doesn’t flinch away from all the eyes staring at her, twisting her face into a mocking grin and proclaiming that they’re all fools, and she’s only here because she wants to see what her little brother wants to get involved in.

Bahorel and Feuilly shift to make room for her at their table, but instead she stands listening for ten minutes while Enjolras picks up where he left off before the interruption. Eventually, she turns and seats herself at Grantaire’s corner table, with his glass of wine in hand.

They talk quietly for the rest of the meeting. Neither of them smile, but he notices that they glance at him often. It makes him very uncomfortable; dark, sad eyes watching him from the corner, holding things that he doesn’t understand.

\--------------------

Enjolras sees Éponine again once more when he runs into her while handing out flyers. She’s sporting a black eye and split lip combo that looks both old, and still painful. When he makes an aborted move to take her chin in his hand to get a better look, she makes a similar one to slap him, though neither actually follow through. Instead, he says that he is taking her to Joly, and her protests are cut off with a wince of pain, so she follows reluctantly.

Joly tuts when he’s concerned. His teachers and supervisors have told him that it makes him come across as disapproving and judgemental, but Enjolras knows that just his way of keeping himself focused by making repetitive sounds. He tuts now, as he prods at the swollen, darker skin around Éponine’s eye. She only sits, however, watching Enjolras with her good eye, sad and calculating. Eventually, she speaks: “You’re breaking his heart, you know.”

Enjolras is momentarily confused. “If Gavroche still wants to join us when he’s older, he is absolutely welcome to.” He says, hesitatingly. Saying Gavroche would be broken hearted over his rejection of his membership would be overdramatic, but children are prone excessives.

Éponine only scoffs, loudly, as she takes the cooling cream Joly offers her for her eye and the antiseptic for the split in her lip, which looks as if he has been left uncovered for days and is starting to look inflamed. She leaves without another word to either of them, but muttering to herself about men being ridiculous.

Enjolras wonders sometimes how she is.

When he turns to Joly, he looks disappointed in him, and Enjolras wants to curl up and not move for a long time. He calls Courfeyrac. 

\--------------------

Montparnass is often thought to be the leader of the Patron-Minette gang. Young, beautiful and exquisitely dressed, he walks fearlessly through the streets during daylight hours; the aspiring actor turned pickpocket and assassin who can be legally tied to at least three murders, and through the passage of rumour, more. It is perhaps through this visibility that comes the assumption of leadership, when in truth there are four heads to the Patron-Minette snake. 

All four have warrants for gang-related offences - robbery, minor drug charges - but Claquesous is a shady character, faceless but for a mask, shadowless for never being seen in the light. And he is also wanted for questioning over the death of a local shopkeeper, albeit under an assumed name. 

Les Amis have been on the lookout of the gang since the first warrant was released. Their name is synonymous with harassment, and while the group has never put much faith in the effectiveness or impartiality of the police force, the streets would be much safer if the four of them were behind bars. Montparnass at least is a dangerous criminal, even if the other three are mostly just petty thugs, but Enjolras has as many doubts about vigilante justice as he does of the civil service. He may not hesitate to step into brawls on the street, or whip a crowd into a frenzy that could lead to violence, but he does not know if he could do something to permanently, or at the very least majorly incapacitate another person; taking the law into your own hands is a slippery slope towards pursuing your own vengeance and grudges, rather than what is best for everyone. They have always been about equalising the status of all the people, rather than individual gain.

Well, he didn’t know, until he hears through communication channels that it was Claquesous who had attacked Éponine, and when Gavroche innocently boasts that he can find the gang member, Enjolras calls Combeferre and Courfeyrac and tells them to make excuses to get out of classes for the rest of the day.

They catch up with Claquesous in a dark, back alleyway, and it’s so cliché that Courfeyrac almost laughs at it, despite the seriousness of the situation. Gavroche had wanted to follow them in, but Enjolras had sent him away, though whether or not he actually left, and wasn’t just skulking in a corner, he couldn’t be sure; he had departed entirely too easily. Either way, they don’t want him to see what they’re about to do. 

Claquesous doesn’t seem nervous when they approach him, and it strikes Enjolras that he has seen his smirk somewhere. Perhaps at a meeting, or a rally, in which case he would know Les Amis stance on vigilante justice. Since they never discussed what they were doing here at any meeting, however, he would not know that this ideology has recently changed, just for him. At least, not until Combeferre and Enjolras pull out police batons that they had stolen the last time they had been confined to a holding cell. Enjolras had thought there was a certain kind of poetry in that, though he will admit himself that he has never had much of a feel for the arts beyond oration. Grantaire would have known. He has artistic talent; a flare for art and for beauty. But they hadn’t told anyone where they would be tonight. Least of all Grantaire, who would’ve told them that they’d end up in trouble for no reason (They had considered Bahorel because he is great in a fight, but for all he talks about not wanting to be a lawyer he retains a lawyer’s moral objection to vigilantism).

Claquesous is lucky that Coufeyrac is there with them, or else he’d be leaving with much worse than a broken leg and collar bone, if he ever left at all. Combeferre was right beside him; a pacifist by nature, but the type who would bring three guns to a fight that only needed one, never mistaking passivity for inactivity, and willing to go as far as Enjolras for the cause. He would never have stopped him. Nor stopped himself.

Truthfully, Enjolras and Combeferre are lucky for Courfeyrac’s presence, too. It would be all too easy for the two of them to logic themselves into huge and terrible acts of violence without him around to remind them of a devotion to individual people, rather than just an ideology. He completes them, in the way he rests his hands on their elbows and draws them away from the broken and bleeding man slumped against the bricks of the alley, and then calls the police to pick him up.

Three three brush shoulders constantly as they walk out of the alley without looking back, and understanding passes between them, along those points of contact. Éponine may not have been one of them, but they fight for everyone. And they _will_ fight, if they must.


	11. Cosette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras is pretty sure they meet Cosette by accident.

Enjolras sees Marius at Courfeyrac’s apartment every few days. His small pile of belongings have moved out of his suitcase and into a small chest-of-drawers that Courfeyrac had found at a junk sale and the room that had originally been a kind of study area has been converted into a make-shift second bedroom, complete with a considerably more expensive inflatable mattress then the one Enjolras had tried to use when he was seventeen and sleeping on the floor in Courfeyrac’s bedroom. So clearly Marius is planning on staying for some amount of time. 

However, he seems to go out of his way to avoid the rest of the group. For the first three weeks, whenever he had dropped by Courfeyrac’s apartment Marius had tried to sneak out when he though Enjolras wasn’t paying attention. Unfortunately, subtlety does not appear to be Marius’ strong suit, and more often than not he kicks something that had been lying on the floor, or practically slams the door in his haste to get out, and Enjolras pretends he doesn’t notice, because Marius clearly needs some time to get over the embarrassment of his first disastrous meeting. But after three weeks of no change Enjolras calls out to him as he is making another failed attempt at sneaking and tells him to come and watch television with him and Courfeyrac. Neutral ground is always a good way to start, and before long Marius is comfortable enough to contribute to Enjolras and Courfeyrac’s running commentary over top of the news. After that, Enjolras starts bringing Combeferre with him to Courfeyrac’s and while Marius spends the first time hiding in his bedroom, he eventually joins the three of them around Courfeyrac’s coffee table, taking up the lone armchair while the other they squeeze onto the couch.

Regardless of Marius apparently finding a safe space for conversation at Courfeyrac’s apartment, he continues to actively avoid the rest of Les Amis, which is why it’s a surprise the day that he turns up at the Corinth. Enjolras is pretty sure that he mentioned once or twice that they met there in the hopes that Marius would come along, but he never expressed any interest beyond what was required to be polite. He’s not sure if Marius simply forgot that this was their meeting place now, or if he just remembered it as a place that Enjolras mentioned for some reason and thought it would be a good place for food and drink.

Because Marius is clearly not here for the meeting. In fact, he doesn’t even seem to have noticed the rest of the group, eyes caught as they are on the tiny girl with him, all soft brown hair and soft curves and high stiletto heels. He doesn’t even notice Courfeyrac approaching them until he’s swooped down on the girl and spun her around in a circle. She laughs, the kind of laugh that can’t help but make you smile along with her, and plants a kiss on Courfeyrac’s cheek and Enjolras realises this must be Cosette. He’s only heard about her from Marius once because after the first time he told him he did not care about his love life, but Courfeyrac had rolled his eyes and grinned happily in a way that spoke volumes about how often he’d heard this speech from Marius. 

After almost no cajoling, Cosette is convinced to sit with the rest of them, and Marius follows. And though he casts nervous glances at everyone at the main table, no one makes any comment other than to welcome him back. 

The meeting continues on as planned from that point, but after everyone other than the core members have left, Courfeyrac manages to convince Marius and Cosette to stay and tell them the story of how they met. It’s a ridiculous story, like something out of a movie, where the boy wakes up to see the girl he’s always known but never noticed before and while Enjolras is happy for them, he truly is, he also truly has no interest in watching them make eyes at each other.

Instead, he lets his eyes and his mind wander, and they settle on Grantaire. Grantaire has moved from his customary table in the corner and taken the seat opposite him since the meeting ended. He has a glass of wine in front of him, but only a glass instead of the bottle, and he has a faint smile playing across his lips as he sketches something on his notepad. Enjolras likes him like this; mostly sober and surrounding himself with his friends - happy. He leans forward to catch a glimpse of the drawing. It’s Marius, but his eyes are hearts and Cosette next to him has angel wings and a halo. He must feel Enjolras’ gaze on him and he looks up, just as Marius tells of the way birds had literally been singing when he saw Cosette across the park and Enjolras can not help the way his eyes roll. Grantaire snorts with laughter at whatever else is showing on Enjolras’ face, and everyone else falls abruptly silent and turn to stare at them. Grantaire looks immediately back to his sketchbook and Enjolras frowns at them all, but when they turn back to continue their conversation, Grantaire looks up again and grins at him. 

Enjolras smiles back.

\--------------------

Cosette comes back to the Corinthe the next week without Marius in tow. She seats herself with a cheery hello to everyone between Musichetta and Jehan, and listens intently to every word spoken in the meeting. There is an awkward silence after everyone else leaves, while they try to think of anything else to talk about, other than surprise that she’s here. She had been invited, of course, but with Marius’ refusal to attend, they hadn’t thought that she would.

Cosette must sense the question, regardless - it’s not as if they’re subtle about it, after all - and unprompted, tells them the most dramatic tale of abuse, welfare fraud and woe that any of them have heard happen to someone they know. By the end of her sad tale, Bahorel is sniffing quietly to himself and Musichetta has wrapped her bright red nails around Cosette’s arm, but Cosette is focused on Jehan, who is looking at her in frank disbelief.

“When I was growing up...” he croaks, coughs, and starts again. “When I was growing up, my parents told me stories about a man who used to live on their street before he was arrested for hiding his sister and her son from the police to keep them from being deported. His name was Jean Valjean. His story is why I became an activist. _"Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me.”_

Cosette laughs, delighted, at Jehan’s admission, and takes his hand that is resting on the table in two of her own. “Papa will be happy to hear that he has inspired good works.” And Jehan smiles shyly at her in a way that he is never shy.

Enjolras marvels at how Cosette can laugh after telling what has happened to her; there is no falseness to her smile, no bitterness hidden behind her eyes. Just a true and honest belief that everything can get better, that pain and suffering have an end.

As Cosette turns from Jehan to ask the others how they became involved in activism, Enjolras has the sudden thought that their group is now complete.


	12. Les Amis de l'ABC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were always meant to end up here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Insert **We Can’t Change Our Course, Our Fate’s Sealed Long Ago** here.

Cosette and Musichetta take to each other like a moth to a flame, although which is which depends entirely on the situation. They arrive at every meeting together, and Enjolras suspects that Cosette spends as much time with Musichetta as she does with Marius, judging by the way Marius looks at his phone every few minutes while he mutters under his breath in different languages with his work spread out around him when Enjolras is over at Courfeyrac’s, as if waiting for a call. Enjolras would find it sad, Marius’ waiting, if it weren’t for the fact that Marius doesn’t seem bothered by it at all, doesn’t seem to let it interrupt his life. Marius is entirely contradictory, and Enjolras finds it fascinating, would ask how he does it if he weren’t afraid that it would just lead to Marius talking about how much he loves Cosette for hours. He’s never been able to separate his passions like that.

Between the horror she experienced in the foster care system, and her father moving her about to keep her safe from his past and the people looking for him, Cosette never had much time for television, and Musichetta has apparently taken it as her personal mission to catch her up on every piece of popular culture that she deems necessary. They arrive a few minutes late to the first meeting held after Enjolras and Grantaire discuss their past life, and the whole of the Corinth catches the end of their conversation about whether or not Battlestar Galactic can be considered feminist media. They’ve all heard this discussion before, because they appear to disagree vehemently on the subject of Admiral Cain, and no amount of circular debate seems able to reconcile their opinion. But Cosette cuts the conversation off with a squeak when she notices that the meeting hasn’t started, and she apparently suddenly remembers what day it is and dashes to the front of the group.

Cosette and Feuilly run the meeting that day on the abuses and failings within the foster care system, and Enjolras is grateful that he doesn’t have to do any more than listen. Feuilly speaks eloquently and beautifully and Cosette’s story is gut-wrenching in the simplicity with which she tells it, and when they ask for donations and volunteers to go out to the streets and collect more, every wallet empties and every hand is raised. Enjolras is glad to sit back and listen to his friends talk, hear the passion that infuses every word, and the true dedication to their causes that the rest display. 

He doesn’t say a word, either in the meeting nor during the more informal gathering of those who remain afterwards. Rather, he allows the chatter of his friends wash over him; watches Jehan do Cosette’s hair up in a complicated twist, both possessed of a delicacy that is at odds with their fierce discussion on the renunciation of power, and which means are acceptable in taking down governments that contribute to the sufferings of the poor and marginalised. Musichetta and Feuilly laugh quietly together over the sketch that Feuilly is doing for their next flyer, and an almost-empty bottle of wine. Combeferre’s lecture to Bahorel about excessive enjoyment of violence is interrupted periodically by Bahorel cursing when Courfeyrac pokes him in his sprained wrist in some supposed attempt at driving the point home.

With his newly remembered memories of their past together, Enjolras can’t help but marvel on the way that, despite death and the randomness of the universe, they have all come together again, at this time, and in this place. As he thinks on how they all met again, he realises the prominence that Grantaire has in all his recollections. The fact that he noticed him enough for him to feature in his memories, but never actually _noticed_ him beyond a faint annoyance is practically inexcusable. Grantaire has been there since the first moment they were introduced; never faltering, dedicated to their meetings if never participating, as constant to Les Amis and his friends as the passing of time. And Enjolras as good as ignored him in that setting. He does not understand the regard that Grantaire has for him after years of casual dismissal and not even unrequited, but truthfully unnoticed, pining. He does not understand how Grantaire can love him after all the time they have known each other, over two and more lives. The simple fact of his love shocks Enjolras to even think of it, its persistent part of Grantaire’s being humbles him, in a way. To be loved in such a way by a man who is, above all, genuinely kind.

Enjolras can likely never hope to ignore Grantaire again. He’s hyper aware of the way that Grantaire fidgets in the seat beside him, as if unsure of the position he has found himself in. Normally Enjolras would be flanked by Combeferre and Courfeyrac on either side, but Courfeyrac had stood and taken the spare seat beside Bahorel, ostensibly to aid Combeferre in his lecture, but leaving the only empty seat to be the one beside Enjolras, and so Grantaire had had to take it. Enjolras had told Combeferre and Courfeyrac of his dream as soon as they had been alone after Marius got them released from the holding cell that day. Neither had had the same one, but Combeferre had believed him immediately, as Enjolras had known he would, and while Courfeyrac had seemed momentarily like he thought Enjolras was joking with them, as soon as he saw that he and Combeferre were in agreement, he simply nodded and accepted it as fact too. Enjolras hadn’t told them about Grantaire, however, hadn’t thought it was really his place to share unless Grantaire wanted him to, but he hadn’t had to for the two of them to figure out that something had happened.

Truthfully, Enjolras finds Grantaire’s constant shuffling rather annoying, and so the next time that he places his hand on the table to drum his fingers against it in irregular pattens, Enjolras covers it with his own and slips his fingers through Grantaire’s, curling them so the tips rest against his palm. There’s a squeak that comes from Grantaire’s left and they both swing their heads around to see Joly with his hand pressed tightly over Bossuet’s mouth. Bossuet is practically vibrating with excitement, and after a brief, considering look at Enjolras, Joly grins happily. 

No one else makes comment on the way that Grantaire alternates between beaming at everyone and smiling shyly at Enjolras, face as red as a stoplight, nor how Enjolras drags his thumb up and down the side of Grantaire’s hand. 

But he can feel the love and companionship radiate off each and every one of them. The passion of purpose and the fire of change intermingled with the contentment of simply having one another in their lives. The way that it surrounds him like a blanket on a cold day, envelops like the hoodie that he had loaned Grantaire last night when they had discussed their past revolution and Grantaire had told him of all the other lives he remembers; two sizes too big, the sleeves hanging down over his hands and the hood flopping over his eyes. 

He only hopes that they can feel it from him, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that’s the end of that chapter. I have (at least) one more fic in this ‘verse loosely mapped out, but I’ve also been fighting a return to the MCU ever since I finished watching Daredevil in order to get this finished, so we’ll see which one gets done first. If it’s the next bit of this, I hope to see some of you there. Thank you so much for reading my ramblings!


End file.
